


a cold, cold man

by EmergencyBroadcastSystem



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Complicated Sibling Relationship, M/M, Slow Burn, background lamen, damen and laurent are kind of assholes in this lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 06:11:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16927941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmergencyBroadcastSystem/pseuds/EmergencyBroadcastSystem
Summary: Damen had described loving Laurent has like trying to acclimatise to a sauna. It's good, It's relaxing, but the steam makes his eyes sting and a part of him wants to escape the heat but he can't, and another part likes it too much to try. He says that's why they fight so much, because the line between them kept changing.For Nikandros, falling for Auguste was like dropping into a deep, black ocean.





	a cold, cold man

**Author's Note:**

> this will be in small chapters. wanted to explore how lamen looks outside of their own heads, and share my interpretation of aug. im balls deep in a depressive episode so don't expect too much too fast.

The first time Nikandros met Auguste, he had knocked on his front door without expecting an answer. 

Immediately afterwards, Nikandros turned with his package and glanced over the bushes which ran parallel up to the DeVere door, trying to see if any of them had an underbelly tall enough to fit the shoebox. It was a cool, bright day without a hint of the warmth the season promised, the air still sharp with lingering winter. 

Nikandros pushed the toe of his shoe through the grassy underside of the nearest bush, lifting it a fraction and hitting bramble. Too short. 

“Can I help you?” a man asked, hanging out of the doorway. 

Nikandros turned. 

“You—must be Auguste, right?” He asked, half-stunned.

The other man watched Nikandros for a moment, “That’s me.” 

The man who stood in the doorway must have been Auguste because it certainly wasn’t Laurent, but Nikandros’ brain struggled to connect the two of them as brothers. It was difficult to describe—although their colouring matched in every way, they looked strikingly different. 

“I’m sorry, are you Damianos?” Auguste asked, expression still blank, “I’m not good with faces. Or names.” 

“Oh, sorry, no,” Nikandros straightened up, “I’m Nikandros, Damianos’ friend. He sent me to deliver this to Laurent, but since Laurent was working today I thought I would just have to put it under a bush.” 

“Ah, didn’t expect to see me?” Auguste asked, a small hint of life coming to his expression, “I suppose I’m a bit of a Bertha Mason.” 

Nikandros paused. “Who?” 

Auguste only smiled slightly, taking a step back into the hallway. He jerked his head back, beckoning him in, and without waiting to see him follow, disappeared down the hallway. Nikandros padded in, closing the front door gingerly behind him. 

The DeVere house was small and bare. A few paintings hung at various places on the crisp, white walls but they seemed to only exist to break up the barrenness and not for any artistic reason. He passed a coat rack with two identical clean black coats. Nikandros found Auguste in the kitchen, a small modern one with black marble counter-tops. 

Auguste gestured to the kitchen table, “Just leave it there.”

Nikandros set the shoe-box on the counter and stepped away from it. It had looked ordinary in Damianos’ cluttered apartment, but on the bare counter-top it looked sad and worn. 

“What’s in it?” Auguste asked, flipping the lid open. 

Random clutter greeted him. A toothbrush with bristles bent back with overuse. Dozens of blonde hairbands pulled into a knot. A copy of collected poetry. 

“It’s Laurent’s stuff that he left in Damen’s place,” Nikandros said, “They broke up again.” 

“Again?” Auguste asked, although his voice didn’t hold much surprise. He rifled through the items, “Was it bad?” 

“Pretty bad. Damen almost broke his nose,” Nikandros said, “I think this one might be a long break. Even permanent.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure,” Auguste fished out a small white envelope. Laurent’s name was written on the back in Damen’s hand. 

“Ah,” Nikandros said. 

Auguste raised one eyebrow, just a fraction. The envelope wasn’t sealed, so he simply pulled the letter out. 

“Wait,” Nikandros said, “I don’t think—”

Auguste held up a hand, while he unfolded the letter. 

Then nothing. 

The man read in silence, remote blue eyes flicking over the letter. 

It was then that Nikandros, as he watched him read, that he put his finger on what separated the two DeVere brothers so distinctly. 

Laurent had presence. He was a good actor and he projected himself, pulling the eyes in any room to him like a magnet pulling iron filings. You simply could not imagine someone not remembering him, not being affected by him. Even in his coldest moments, there was emotion there, as deep and powerful at the ocean. But Auguste… 

Auguste hardly seemed to exist at all. 

The letter was folded, and tucked neatly back into its envelope all while Nikandros watched his every move. Auguste buried the letter again. He noticed Nikandros’ eyes on him, “There was nothing interesting.” 

“Oh,” Nikandros said, blinking, “Well, they’ve broken up and gotten back together so many times, I suppose you must run out of things to say.” 

Auguste closed the lid on the shoebox, “They’re our own personal operas, sometimes.” 

Inwardly, Nikandros groaned. Damen was a good friend, but Laurent brought out the dramatic in him. Whereas Damen skipped between all previous girlfriends and boyfriends without so much as a sad text sent his way, Nikandros couldn’t could how many borderline-alcoholic episodes, screaming matches and fistfights Laurent had sent Damen spiralling into. 

“That’s true love I suppose,” Auguste said, a note of something in his voice Nikandros’ couldn’t identify. 

“It seems to bring out the worst in people,” Nikandros agreed. 

Something in the air seemed to brighten and Auguste opened a cupboard to take out two small mugs. “Coffee?” He asked. 

Nikandros smiled, “Yes, thank you.”


End file.
